Sessions on the couch
by MollyMittens
Summary: What happens when Arnold's psychology practice booms with patients? Who will Arnold treat and how will becoming Hollwood's greatest therapist change his life?
1. Mr Simmons

"Um...Arnold...?"Mr. Simmons says. He had just finished eating a nice meal with Helga and I and seemed quite happy all throughout. But as the night draws to a close it becomes clear that something is on his mind. He walks slowly to get his coat, staring at his shifting foot as he does. It sweeps back and forth quickly and I can see by how fast it moves that he's nervous. I make sure to note that mentally, in case I'll need that later.

"Yes?" I say. "Did you need something?"

"Well..I...really hate to be a bother...but...could I come by your office...on a day your not busy...and...you know...have a...heh...session?" I am shocked at how much energy it takes him to ask, but I keep that to myself, adding his stumbling words to the mental file I have started for him.

"Sure! You can come in any time. If you give me a moment I'll grab my book and we can hammer out a time now, or later, if you like. Do you have my office number?"

"I believe so...Yes." He looks at the floor again avoiding my eyes. I try to figure out if there is something going on, some key thing that could be the underlining stress factor, if there is any. I notice as we linger in the front hall that he seems to sink lower in mood, his face drooping to the hardwood. The mounds of energy he seems to expend at the simple task of trying to look up amazes me and I begin to understand that being Robert Simmons at this particular moment must exhaust him.

"You know, we can have a session now, if you want. I'll make some tea and we can settle into my room. Helga won't mind, she'll probably be playing with Little Phil down here anyway."

"Really? You mean right now?" Simmons eyes light up some and for a second I see that same smile that got us through class. And yet, as the idea makes the long pilgrimage across his mind, I can see that's not what he wants. He takes his flat cap from the coat rack and fiddles with it, thumbing the edges.

"That's vary nice of you to offer Arnold, but I'm afraid I have imposed on you too much."

"Nonsense! It's no trouble at all. Do you mind waiting here while I start the tea?"

"No, that's quite all right. I can just...call you...or...something."

", I am happy do this however you feel comfortable but I'm getting the sense that a session tonight could really help," I pause, thinking, "Hows this: Lets at least agree to have tea. If your still not ready to talk when your cup is empty, then we can meet however you want. Does that sound good?"

He looks down again, and then slowly lifts his heavy head up.

"Well...It is cold out, and tea would be nice. Do you have Chamomile?"

"I think so. Let me check." I walk back into the kitchen and start the kettle, finding Helga washing the dishes while Little Phil watches. He smiles and claps his hands as the soap suds fly, making me smile at the sight.

"You like seeing Mommy cleaning dishes huh?" I beam, tapping my hand with his. He smiles back at me, clasping his small fingers around my thumb. I try to tare myself away from his happy eyes but can't, his content face filling me up.

"Oh sure, look at Mommy clean. That's a fun show," Helga laughs. She turns and flashes us a wink before finishing off the last of the dinnerware.

"So," I whisper, "Did you notice anything off about Simmons tonight?"

"A little, why?"

"Well, he mentioned about booking a session with me and I thought it'd be better to start one tonight just to feel him out, you know?"

"Oh...ok. Sure." I pull Helga close and kiss her, trying to go for the simple peck when she presses me against her soft body and breathes, "But don't forget about our session later, Dr. Shortman." She tickles her finger under my chin as she talks, narrowing her sexually hungry eyes at me. The kettle whistles done when I pull away, feeling like I'm about to blow like my glass counterpart.

"Helga! He could have heard that!" I giggle, trying, and failing, to sound stern, "Please save those kinds of comments for later! I have to look professional" I turn off the glass kettle and search for the tea.

"You really don't mind?" Simmons asks again when I emerge from the kitchen holding mugs.

"Not at all. But if you're really not comfortable do not hesitate to say so.." He looks outside, the fierce winds and snow blowing around. I can see him almost walk to the door, one foot moving forward when he turns back.

"No, I'm fine," he sighs. I hand him his tea and he sniffs it, humming his praises for the brand as he cups the mug for warmth. I motion for the stairs and soon we are both climbing the steps to my room. His eyes widen a little as he looks around, drinking in the whole scene. I let down my couch and prop Helga's rocking chair opposite it. I notice, as I sit in the chair that he seems quite interested in Little Phil's toy tin plane that rests by his crib, twirling the little propeller with his fingers.

"This is some room Arnold, I must say!" Simmons sips his tea as he continues to eye the place, "You have often talked about this room, but this is the first time I can really SEE what you mean! Oh My! Does Helga like living here?"

"We make it work," I say, realizing that I'll need my patient intake pad, just in case. I run to my desk and grab it before gesturing my old teacher to take a seat. But Robert Simmons seems more intent on standing, marvelling over a life he never got to see, and by the gentle way he handles my sons things, a life he never got to have despite what must be a deep desire too. I instinctively jot this all down, noting his slow but careful movements, his wonderment at my sons toys, and the small but audible sighs that slips from his mouth. The more he stands the more I can see that something is definitely going on with him.

"So...a...do you often take sessions in here?" he asks, finally sitting on the couch. He slouches over as he sits, his hands folded together with his thumbs twiddling in their own interpersonal war. I can see that he wants to say more to fill up the space between us, and to ease whatever he's feeling, yet his mind blanks on what.

"On the phone yes, but usually not in person. In fact," I smile, "You just might be the first."

"Oh, Well...don't I feel lucky. He he."

"So tell me Mr. Simmons, what has been going on in your life?"

"So..we're just going to jump on in then?

"We don't have to. We can play cards, or chess. I often play Crazy 8's with Helga but she gets a little too crafty for me. I'm beginning to suspect she cheats." I say, keeping my comments light. I rarely don't invite much privet information to the people I may treat, but I also rarely treat my old teachers either.

"Well..." Simmons hesitates, "I...Well I..."

"Relax. Take your time." I smile again, sipping my now Luke warm tea. He does the same, savoring the sweet smell that rises up from the mug.

"Did I mention how much I enjoy this room Arnold! I mean, just look at it. You have your own king size bed, a couch that comes out at the push of a button and...all those...you know...toys...for...you know...your," He gulps, "son." I note how he is barely able to get his last four words out, wondering why it's such a struggle for him.

"Yes, you have mentioned that. Quite a lot, in fact."

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to." He says, sinking in his seat.

"No-no don't be. You should feel free to express whatever you want in here. In may be my room, but just for tonight, lets call it your special place. And in your special place you can say whatever is on your mind. Go ahead, try it out." Simmons looks at the floor again, gathering air. After a long moment he seems to have enough.

"Can I ask questions in my special place?"

"I think you just did."

"Arnold..." he breathes sadly, "Are...you and Helga happy?" Happy? What is he getting at? I try to keep my face calm, knowing that I cannot show too much emotion here, no matter what his aim is.

"Are you happy ?"

"I used to be. But not now."

"And why do you think that is?"

"Because...oh, you wouldn't understand."

"I might."

"Listen Arnold I really appreciate all the tea and dinner and everything but...I really should be going now. Th-thank you so much." He rises, nearly shaking as he walks from the couch to my door. I frown as he does, not liking the scene before me. In school Mr. Simmons was happy, always telling us to chase our dreams no matter what they were. Now he is a formal shell of that, his entire face slacking off from smiles, his mood permanently down, and his gate riddled with shakes and twitches. I can't help but think of that week our class antics made him quit.

"Robert, Mr. Simmons...I don't like this. You used to show us that you can be happy no matter what happens. When Helga and I came by your house that thanksgiving, you, despite having the most horrible of guests, still managed to put on a smile and be genuinely blissful. In fact, that's a trait I've always admired about you. Your hard determination to seek out the pleasant in the unpleasant. " He turns and looks at me, eyes softly lightening up.

"Really? You know that's what I would have said about you Arnold," he says, getting back to my couch. "You really have a knack for looking beyond peoples inherent evil to find their inherent good. I never know how you do that."

"But then again, I never understood how any of my children do their special little talents. Like Helga and her writing, Phoebe and her gifts for the sciences, and the way Gerald always regaled you kids with his legends." Simmons folds his hands together and beams, exhaling contently in the memories. "It's not at all surprising that my children ended up in the professions that they did. Especially you, Dr. Shortman."

"Do you realize that you keep referring to your past students as 'your children'?" I say, jotting that down.

"Do I? I didn't notice that."

"You also took a shining to my son's toys."

"Oh...?"

"Did you ever want children Mr. Simmons?" I ask.

"Well, you know what they say, those who can't do, teach!"

"Interesting. And why would you use that particular phrase tonight?"

"Well...you know...because off...you know?" I look at him flail about as he tries to find the right words for what he wants to say, his eyes darting around like mad. He bites his curled lip, taking his flat cap and wringing it out with his overly nervous hands.

"Are you all right?"

"No! I can't say it. I just can't!"

"Say what?"

"I'm GAY!" I stiffen up in my seat, surprised. If I was not focused then, I am surly focused now. "You want to know whats going on in MY life Arnold? Do you?" Robert Simmons says, standing up. "My whole life I have been preaching to my kids, sorry, my STUDENTS about how you all should be yourselves no matter what! I had posters plastered on the walls, I had sayings written in the corners of the blackboard, I praised every LITTLE trait that was uniquely you! But you know what? I didn't believe any of that! I didn't even practice what I taught you! And you know something? It hurts." he flops down on the couch again trying so hard to not collapse, "It hurts to see how well this all worked out for you. You have the life I always wanted: A loving family, a child, and most of all, someone special to share that with. And what do I have? A failed teaching carreer and a house full of dead plants." Simmons droops down, looking like he might burst into sobs at any moment. I sat back, watching my former teacher vent.

"I got into teaching because I had the firm believe that I could enrich the lives of children. I knew, that with a little hard work and some clever lesson plans I could help you little beings becomes something truly wonderful! But..." he breathed sadly, "after Principal Wartz left and I was forced into nursing I saw that I really became a teacher...not to help you, but to help me. Through you kids I was able to teach a self love I never had for myself, and through you kids I got a taste of what fatherhood would be like. Because even if I did find that special someone to share my life with, we could never make a home. We could NEVER have a family like you and Helga have a family."

"But what about adoption? I'm sure there are plenty of kids who'd be happy to have you as a father."

"I'm sure there are. But don't you see? As much as the world may have opened it's mind to a lifestyle they assumed I chose, it will never be ok with people like ME raising children. They can see us decorate a house or make some dumpy woman look pretty, but they can't bare the thought of us doing what is in our genetic RIGHT to do!"

Mr. Simmons peals himself off my couch and walks to my bed, staring out at the cold harsh winds that blow over my skylight. He gazes at the bright blue moon, hands neatly tucked behind his back. I continue to watch him, letting the whole of the night sink in. It dawns on me, seeing Robert Simmons stand still as a statue, that whatever his life has to offer, it will never be enough. Because no matter how much he wants to, he can't experience the joys I do everyday. He won't get to hold his own biological son and laugh with him, he won't get to open up presents on Christmas morning, and most of all, he won't get to know there is someone out there who loves him unconditionally.

I get up to join him by the window, suddenly vary grateful for Little Phil, and for Helga. She may have her troubles, but at least we have each other to hold at night, to cling to on the cold mornings, and to talk to when we are sad.

"Just because you may not have kids," I start cautiously, "does not mean you can't find someone to share your world with. There may be a man out there, right now, just waiting to get to know the great person you are!"

"Are you so sure of that Arnold?" He asks, choking up.

"No. But I do know that you can't let your sadness of not being a father fog up your chances at love. You may not have believed what you taught us . But that does not mean we didn't learn it." The snow begins to pickup some, sprinkling our view with glistening drops of white. We both stand quietly, seeing the windows gradually snow over.

"You didn't just spout things," I start again, "you taught them with honesty and kindness. You came in everyday facing our mixed bag of troubles and still made the best of it, good or bad. Weather you think so or not, I know there is a part of you that DID believe what you said. Otherwise you wouldn't of said it."

Suddenly there is a knock on the door. I run to open it, finding Helga and Little Phil.

"I'm sorry to interrupt but the snow is really blowing hard out there. Do you think he'll make it home ok?" She whispers. I nod yes, letting her know that I'll need a moment.

"Well, our time is up for tonight,"I say, trying to keep myself together. I realize as I walk back to Simmons that our session really effected me more then I meant it to, shocked to finally understanding a side of the old teacher we all would have wanted to.

He folds out his wrinkled cap and dons it before following me downstairs for his coat. Simmons is silent, passing through the boarding house halls like some object rather then a living being. When we reach the front door he turns to me.

"Thank you for tonight Arnold," He says, "It may not have been easy, but it's exactly what I needed to hear." And then, smiling brightly, Robert Simmons lightly presses his arms over me for a hug. "Don't ever quit your day job. You're too good for anything else." And with that, our 4th grade teacher walks out into the harsh cold, happier then when he came in.


	2. Helga

Helga

"I have to talk to you," she said. I was sitting on my office chair looking at my pregnant wife who just barged in. Helga walks passed me, making way for the couch. She lets out a huge sigh of relief as she takes off her shoes. "Criminy, if I have to spend another fucking second in those torture chambers called pumps then I swear, somebodies going down!" She bends over, gently rubbing her feet before reclining back on my couch, growling in relief again.

"I've been meaning to talk to you too, " I say, moving to the armchair opposite Helga. Out of habit I grab my note pad and pen, tapping the butt of it on the yellow paper. Helga cringes her eyes some, turning herself to me.

"Will you cut that out! Man!"

"Sorry," I say, stopping the pen, "So tell me, what did you want to talk about? Phil's grades I assume."

"Oh, so you were listing to me this morning!"

"This morning? What about this morning?"

"A DOI! When I told you I was going into to see his teacher today! She's been wanting to see one of us for a while now."

"Really?" I say, jotting that down.

"What do you mean really? Football head, his grades are slipping, and according to Miss Know-it-all it started right around the time we told him about this!" She points to her rounded belly and then rubs it, moaning in discontent.

"Well, I guess we'd better talk to him again. If does he not start taking his studies seriously then we're going to have to make some changes. Maybe take away his video games." My wife turns to me, eyes softening from their take-charge look.

"I'm not so sure that's the right way to go here. In fact, I know it's not. I think he's intentionally not doing his homework."

"What? Why would he do that?" I say, getting peeved. "He knows the rules. He does his homework or he can't play his games. That's it! I'm taking them away tonight!" I note that on my bad, and make another to have a session with him. This has got to remedied!

"The thing is," Helga starts, "I can see why he would. I did stuff like this all the time when I was his age. Of course, it all failed and my parents STILL don't notice me, but..."

"Oh, so you still hate your parents I see..."

"Oh NO you DON'T! You are not going to play Dr. Shortman with me! That's how we got INTO this mess remember?" I stiffen up, trying to get what she means. The night comes back to me in a flash. I was working late one evening, looking over the days session logs when Helga came in. Only, she was not dressed like Helga, she was dressed like someone else, like...Cecile. I remember how striking she looked, how her blond hair fell carelessly over left eye. How her hot pink striped shirt hugged her body in just the right places. How her skirt barley covered her tight ass...the way he her shoes...oh those shoes. My body quivered as she walked to me, not sure how long my pants could stand to stay on.

"Oh Doctor Shortman," she breathed, her glistening beat rep lips coming at me, "I think I have an addiction."

"T-to w-what?" I tried to say, the words hardly able to leave my airless body

"Your Dick. Your long...hard...dick. And I think I know just the cure." Before I can try to figure out what she's doing Helga..Cecile...is on me, kissing me, touching me, and making me so hot that I can't even stand it! I tried break away but couldn't my hands magnetically drawn to her sweet hot ass. Within moments we were on my couch.

"I think I can help you with that," I say, eyes half lidded as I tare off my wife's clothes. The ripping sound gets to me, and before I can control myself I am inside her, thrusting in every inch of love I can feel. She keeps breathing out my name, each syllable making me propel deeper inside her until we finally scream with pleasurable completion. The last I remember is dosing next to her on the couch, clinging close. That was five months ago.  
>"Helga," I start, " Don't you see that every time I try help, you use sex to defuse me."<p>

"Don't you realize that not everyone needs to be seen on this couch?"

"Don't YOU realize that you still use anger with any therapist you have?"

"DON'T YOU realize that your son needs a FATHER and NOT a therapist?"

"What?" Her words feel like a punch in the face, plastering me to the back of chair. I take moment to wrap my head around what Helga said, shocked that she would even think something like that.

"When was the last you played with him? I mean really played with him? Not that stupid sock puppet crap, I'm taking about a game of cards, some catch, a round or two of Mortal Combat?"

"Well-I...there was that time when...I..."

"I thought so." Helga rises from the couch, her face grimacing as she puts her shoes back on. "The saddest thing is," she says as she stands in the open doorway, hand on the knob, "I'm not even surprised. Not one...bit." Helga slams the door behind her, the sound of it still not loud enough to cover up her more then obvious tears.


End file.
